


The Sun Came Up

by randomostrichchocolates



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, I just wanted a happy ending okay, I should be studying for exams but instead this happened, Mentions of Gwaine and Morgause, The druids are there, mergana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomostrichchocolates/pseuds/randomostrichchocolates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between Morgana awaiting her fate as an enemy of Camelot and the decision being made, Morgana and Merlin fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Came Up

**Author's Note:**

> I just... I wanted a happy ending and I wanted some Morgana redemption and Merlin happiness and lets just say my hand slipped. I should have been studying for my Chemistry exam but this happened.

They subdue her sometime after Gwen (“the bitch” Morgana subtly adds) is crowned queen. Thinking back, Morgana’s still not quite sure how it happened. One moment she had been overcoming Camelot’s knights with ease, laughing as they struggled to come within two feet of her, and the next she was falling, and through her shocked pause, the knights got to her. They clamped those (these, she corrected) horrible magic suppressing cuffs on her. The first night they made the mistake of thinking she was useless without magic. That soon changed after she stole one of the knight’s swords and proceeded to knock out five of them before being subdued once again. They never made the mistake again.

-

She sits now in the top most western tower of the castle. For some cruel reason, they’ve modified her own chambers to be a sort of magic blocking prison. The room locks from the outside now, the walls covered in runes, the only window is the small barred gate at the bottom of the door that the servant girl opens when it’s time for food.

The first three days, Morgana makes a show of refusing to eat. After that, the hunger overcomes her.

-

It’s on the fourth day that she actually gets her first visitor. Probably a good thing too. The suffocating lack of magic coupled with the absence of any life made her feel like her sanity was slipping even farther than it already was.

It’s not Arthur, as she expects it to be. Nor, Gwen. It is Merlin. Morgana is surprised but not the least bit happy.

“Morgana?” There’s a pause where she refuses to answer, hoping he’ll just leave. But he doesn’t. “Morgana? Can you hear me?”

Her curiosity gets the best of her. “Why are you here?”

“So you can hear me.” She hears him let out a relieved sigh and slide down the wall, probably to sit next to the door and its gated window. She’s surprised the guards allow this.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh.” He seems thrown off balance, unsure as to what to say. Though, that’s hardly surprising. No one in Camelot has much to say to _the sorceress_. The mixture of fear and contempt in their eyes is enough for Morgana to confirm that she has no friends here. Not anymore. “I wanted to see how you were?” It’s a question, an opening where neither of them are quite sure what the appropriate answer is.

“Do you even care?” Morgana decides to crush this boy’s concern between her fingers like a pesky mosquito. “You’ve tried to kill me before. I thought you would be happy that my execution is near.”

There is a long silence which Morgana relishes. Finally, he speaks. “Executed? They haven’t sentenced you yet.”

That gives Morgana pause. It confuses her and angers her. How long must she be kept in this infernal room? How long would she have to rot, waiting to know whether she could live or die? How long before she lost all touch with sanity? “What on earth are they waiting for?”

“Hope.” The word is simple. Morgana is unsure as to what Merlin means. Hope that she’ll change? Because that’s hardly going to happen. And even if it did, who would trust it to be genuine?

“No need for that.” She wants to die already. She hates this stupid room, and its stupid runes, the stupid cuffs sucking away at her magic, making it hard to breathe.

“Arthur refuses to give up.” That knocks the air out of her.

“Why?”

“Because you’re…” Merlin pauses here, and she can hear the doubt in his voice, the regrets, the what-could-have-beens, and she has to physically stop herself from screaming. “Because you’re Morgana.”

She hears him rise up from the stone floor, and listens as his footsteps fade away from her door. It is only after she cannot hear the familiar sound of felt boots hitting stone, only after the entire world falls silent to her fate, that she lets herself cry.

-

Merlin sits outside her door the next day as well. This time she refuses to answer him but for some reason that does not seem to deter him. He prattles on about everything. Some of it is important like the fact that Arthur and the council have been meeting every day to talk about Morgana’s fate but never come to a conclusion. Some of its meaningless babbles about Sir Gwaine’s exploits in the tavern. Morgana listens, but she doesn’t reply, hoping he’ll just go away and leave her alone, but also hoping he stays.

This becomes a routine for them, Merlin prattling outside her door at night (8 PM she carefully does not note), Morgana listening, Merlin eventually leaving, dejected. Her dreams are peaceful on these days, undisturbed by the horrifying nightmares that sometimes plague them. There is no white bearded man coming to kill her, no Emrys. And she feels that she might finally be becoming normal again. She might finally be recovering.

After a week and a half of visits, one day Merlin does not show up and it’s like Morgana’s life is crumbling around her. She goes to sleep and dreams of white bearded men and fires and dragons and pain and wakes up screaming.

Merlin must hear about the incident because he never misses a day again.

-

Arthur visits her after two weeks.

“Morgana.” It’s not a question. Arthur is never unsure like Merlin is. He is firm, commanding, as a king should be. This is probably why his weeks of indecision about Morgana’s fate continue to shock her.

“Arthur.” She hasn’t used her voice in two weeks, despite Merlin’s constant babble, and it comes out sounding scratchy and hoarse. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know? To help? To understand?” The unspoken _to find answers_ hangs in the air. Morgana can see Arthur’s feet pacing back and forth in front of the door and she feels a strange vindictive pleasure at being the cause of his distress.

“Ask and I answer, my lord.” The title is spat out like poisonous venom and she hears the falter in his step. She also hears the shake in his voice when he asks his question.

“Do you hate me so much?”

She relishes in the pain he must be feeling when she replies “Of course.”

“I am not my father, Morgana. I am not Uther.”

At this she pauses, that irrational anger that drove her mad from the minute she discovered her powers rising up once again. Her magic whiplashes inside her body, unable to escape, and she feels weak. She thinks she’s going to throw up. “You say this, Arthur, yet people in your kingdom still live in fear of the day they will be discovered. The ban on magic still stands. Innocent men and women still barely survive in terror that their heads will come off simply for using their god given gift to help fell a tree. How, pray tell, are you not like Uther?”

It is minutes before Arthur replies and for a moment, Morgana believes she may have scared him away. But she hasn’t and finally, _finally_ , he answers. “I’ve been considering repealing the ban.”

Now it is Morgana’s turn to fall silent. She imagines how her life in Camelot might have been if she had been offered a magic tutor, if her family had accepted her with open arms and smiles, if she had not been driven away by her biological father and half-brother. She feels hoping rising within her and squashes it. Hope has never been her friend in the past. “Considering? What is it, Arthur? Too afraid of the big bad sorcerers that may corrupt your precious kingdom?”

She hears him sigh. “Not that. My father made a lot of enemies in his time as King. I want to repeal the ban but there would be precautions to take, peace treaties to be made, to ensure the safety of Camelot.” She’s surprised to hear him speaking so much sense. Fearing her words might betray her and compliment him, she stays silent.

“Morgana… I was wondering…” He’s hesitant. “If the ban was repealed, would you still hate me? Would you still try to kill me?” She can hear it then. The small hint of wistfulness in his voice, dreaming of a time long gone where they would sword fight on the training grounds and, afterwards, help each other treat newly gained bruises. She almost cries again.

“I…” She can’t answer him. She wants to go back to that time of innocence and of joy. That time where Arthur was her pseudo-brother, not her actual half-brother. That time when she almost had a crush on the pig headed blond prince. That time when she felt pride at seeing Arthur run off to save the life of a mere servant. But she can’t. She’s done too much, said too much, is too much. She could never live peacefully in Camelot again. The people hate her, the knights hate her, Gwen hates her, and Arthur, though he’s completely misguided, does hate her as well. Merlin… Merlin is one person she is unsure of. There is a time where she would have said that Merlin hated her the most, but now… “Yes.” She decides definitively that she can never go back to a life in Camelot, that she would rather die than face the judging, condemning stares that are waiting for her to back stab them once again. “Yes, I would still hate you. With all my heart.” The tears actually do fall now, and she makes no move to wipe them away.

She slides to the floor near the door and she hears Arthur sigh deeply. She hears him turn and walk away and, seconds later, the footsteps of velvet on stone start to follow him. That’s when she realizes that he was there as well. That he had been there the whole time. And she can’t help herself from calling out “Merlin?” The steps falter and turn back. Morgana presses her face against the cool stone walls, trying to hear what he’s doing.

“Yes?” He answers, cautiously.

She struggles to hold back the words but it’s useless. She’s too weak at the moment, too emotionally unstable. “Would you stay with me?” He is so silent, that she fears he’s left. But that cannot be possible because his feet never moved. When she finally hears him slide down against the wall outside, she lets out her sigh of relief.

There they sit, back to back, Merlin and Morgana. She dimly realizes how different they are, Merlin, the loyal friend versus Morgana, the traitorous sister. It is a perfect example of how blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb, and Morgana feels chills run up her arms. There they sit, for minutes, possibly hours, before Merlin finally talks.

It is so sudden that it alarms Morgana a little bit. He is tentative, like a hunter trying not to startle a skittish deer. “Morgana.” And she shivers at the sound of his voice saying her name. It has a certain quality to it, a hidden strength that one would not associate with the lowly manservant who can barely use a sword to save his life. The voice envelops her for a second and she realizes she could wake up every day to this voice and be content, but she doesn’t realize where that thought comes from. “Morgana, do you really hate Arthur?”

And perhaps it is the late night; perhaps it is her emotional instability; perhaps it is the quality of his voice or the complete raw feeling of the situation; perhaps it is just Merlin, but the truth claws its way up her throat and she finds herself saying “No. I could never hate Arthur.”

-

Morgana and Merlin begin to actually talk during his visits. Useless conversation back and forth.

“Gwaine thinks if I keep talking to you like this, you’re going to eventually escape and turn me into a toad.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’re much more suited to be a newt.”

However, sometimes, it’s serious things, apologies and things left unsaid for years, such as the day Merlin brought up the poison.

“Morgana?”

“Merlin, I literally cannot leave the room. Where are you expecting me to be?”

He laughs at this, and open throated, hearty laugh and Morgana feels warm inside. “Yes, but I just wanted to see if it was one of the good days.” Merlin had begun to classify Morgana’s moods into good days and bad days. Good days were when she replied to his talking with retorts or clever arguments. Bad days were when she refused to talk but sat and listened to him for hours. She sometimes wondered whether Merlin was still being Arthur’s manservant because surely this was slacking on his duties.

“Today is a ‘good day’. What were you going to say?”

“Well…” She feels his voice slip into that unsure tone and she hates it. That insecurity is not something that should be a part of Merlin because over her 4 weeks (or maybe longer) stay in Camelot, Merlin has become somewhat of a rock. A steadying presence in her imprisoned life. If Merlin was unsure, that meant the rock was unsteady, and that meant Morgana was unsteady.

“Don’t dawdle, Merlin, spit it out.”

“Okay, fine.” His voice regains the confidence and she sighs in relief, as the earth stops trembling and the walls are still once more. “Do you remember the sleeping plague?”

Of course she remembers the sleeping plague. The bitter day when everything changed; when her hate for Uther spread to a hate for Camelot; when Morgause became the only sister, the only family, she could ever love. The day she began to hate Merlin. “Of course.” She says instead.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” And of all the things, this she does not expect. She knew that Merlin was tolerating her over the past few days and that he may not hate her as she previously thought, but she never thought he would regret poisoning her. “I never wanted to poison you. It was Morgause. She forced my hand. She connected the magic of the sleeping plague to you and the only way to destroy the curse was to… destroy you. I had to, I had to put Camelot above one person. I didn’t mean to do it, I’m sorry.” And though she can’t see him, she can hear his breath quickening and instantly, she knows he is crying. She feels the pull to comfort him, to let him know that it’s alright, that she doesn’t hate him for what he did anymore, but she hasn’t been one for words in a long time. So, instead, Morgana slowly reaches one hand out of the gated window at the bottom of the door. The magic cuff does not allow the hand to go far and she cannot reach Merlin. But out of nowhere, he moves to grip her hand back.

She feels the warmth envelop her, feels that strange power, the one she senses in his voice, radiating from the very heat of his palm and she cannot explain it. It feels like lighting a fire with magic but much calmer, much more steady and controlled, and for the first time in what feels like eternity, Morgana relaxes.

They stay like that for hours, hands clasped.

-

One day when Merlin arrives, he sounds nervous. He won’t sit near the door and Morgana does not understand why.

“Merlin, will you stop pacing!?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she can hear a mixture of happiness and trepidation in his voice. “I just have news. Well, a couple of things. I don’t know which I should lead with. Why am I doing this? Oh God…”

“Merlin!” Her voice is sharp, clear, breaking through his tirade and pulling him back towards the ground, towards his usual spot, back to back with her. “Tell me.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Arthur and the council are meeting right now.” For a second she thinks he’s about to tell him that she’s being executed and that he’s so overjoyed because these weeks spending time with her have been terrible and he’s so glad to have her gone and oh god _oh godohgodtheyallhateher_ but then Merlin’s voice continues “He’s meeting with the druids.” Merlin sounds so happy, a sort of infectious joy that makes Morgana feel his happiness too. Merlin’s voice has so many interesting qualities. Sometimes, she wonders if he’s a little bit magic. “Morgana? Did you hear? Arthur’s negotiating peace treaties with the druids. He’s doing it. He’s really doing it!”

And Morgana lets out a breath. “He is different, then.”

“He really is.” There’s a smile that stays in Merlin’s voice. “He’s going to be one of the greatest kings Camelot has ever seen.” There is a sureness, a certainty in his voice and Morgana finds herself believing it too.

“You seem unnaturally overjoyed about this, Merlin. Aren’t you scared of the big bad sorcerers? Of me?” She closes her eyes, waiting for the confirmation that Merlin is terrified of these monsters, _these unnatural beings_ , but it doesn’t come.

“Of course, I’m not scared of you.” He says like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Morgana’s chambers may only have artificial light, but she swears she can see the sun come out from behind the clouds. “And actually… well… I think I should tell you something.”

“What is it?” Morgana doesn’t know what she’s hoping for, just that she’s hoping for something.

“The only reason I didn’t tell you is because I didn’t want you to know before Arthur knew. I wish I could have told you before but Uther was there and then the time was never right and Gaius was worried and…” he trails off and Morgana can’t help but feel slightly worried at what’s coming.

“Well, tell me.” There’s silence and Morgana fights the urge to groan. “Please, Merlin. I want to know.”

“Well… Um.” She can see him shuffling his feet on the floor outside and then she hears the thud as he leans his head against the stone wall. His voice is nearly at a whisper now. “Morgana… I have magic.”

And of all the things that could have possibly come out of Merlin’s mouth, that’s not the one she was expecting. Strangely, though, Morgana can’t say it’s particularly a surprise. She knows it’s the truth, just a rather unexpected one. “Oh.” There is a long moment where she thinks of Merlin hiding Mordred, Merlin’s hometown being mysteriously saved by a whirlwind, Arthur’s miraculous recovery from the Questing Beast, Merlin taking her to the druids, the Fisher King quest, the rowan staff, knocking over the cup of life and everything finally clicks into place and Morgana cannot stop laughing.

“Morgana?” He sounds unsure, again, slightly hurt. She realizes, belatedly, that he probably thinks she’s laughing _at him_ , when really it’s quite the opposite.

“No, no, no, Merlin.” She tries to control her laughs. “It’s just, all those times I tried to take Camelot and somehow every time we were defeated. I really should have figured it out a long time ago. Could have saved me and Morgause so much time and effort.” And then, she’s laughing again and after a bit Merlin joins in too.

It is hours later that Morgana realizes that Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic and hasn’t imprisoned him for betraying him or anything of the sort.

It is even longer after that that Morgana realizes she hasn’t laughed or smiled like that in the longest time. Years, maybe.

-

One day, the door unlocks. Morgana feels the magic of the outside world rush into the room and she gasps for a second, shielding her eyes from the outside sunlight. There, in the doorway, she can see Arthur and Gwen (the king and queen, her mind thinks).

“Morgana.” Gwen says, with a small, sad smile.

She suddenly feels drained, like her whole life has been for nothing and she all but resists the urge to run over and embrace Gwen. They are not friends as they once were, especially after all that Morgana has done. “Are you here to finally execute me?”

This time Arthur speaks. “No, Morgana. We’re letting you go.”

“Oh.” The new punishment comes to mind easily. She has been contemplating these for a long time. “Exile, then?”

“Of course not.” Arthur replies, and as Morgana’s eyes adjust to the newly bright room, she sees Merlin behind the couple, looking like the sun himself. “You’re always welcome in Camelot, if that is where you wish to stay.” And with that, he walks over to her, and uncuffs her hands, and she nearly cries out from the energy that flows back to her.

This time she cannot stop herself from hugging them both.

She hugs Merlin too and she feels his breath as he sighs into her hair, and the colour in the world seems to brighten.

-

They don’t call her the Lady Morgana anymore. Arthur explained to her carefully that he does love her, but he understandably does not trust her, at least not yet. She doesn’t blame him for it. He also explains that the people of Camelot were a bit resentful of her and perhaps, in time, her title could be given to her again.

At the moment, Morgana is free to walk to castle as she pleases, but she is tailed by a guard. Morgana secretly believes that the guard is merely a formality because surely Arthur knows Morgana could over power anyone quite easily. Not that she plans too.

She voices these doubts about having a guard to Arthur one day, merely as an inquiry, and is surprised when he laughs. She feels a bit insulted at his underestimation of her powers, and conjures a fireball as a demonstration. The guards in the throne room step forward, threateningly, but Arthur merely waves them off. “I’m serious, Arthur! I’m dangerous. You must be more cautious.”

Arthur laughs again before shaking his head. “Morgana, listen to me, Camelot has the forces to overpower you, should the need for unquenchable vengeance strike you.” Standing at Arthur’s right, Morgana watches as Merlin smiles slowly at the King. Merlin wears new clothes that actually fit him and Morgana isn’t surprised. The newly appointed Court Advisor and Court Sorcerer can surely afford clothes tailored to his physique. The blue garment compliments his eyes, she notes absentmindedly.

“Arthur, if you mean to say that Merlin can fight me, I highly doubt it. I mean, he may have magic, but he is just one sorcerer and Morgause trained me in the ways of the Old Religion. If not me, then someone could attack Camelot and you need more precautions than just one sorcerer!” Merlin fidgets and Morgana narrows her eyes at him, wondering what he’s hiding. They haven’t talked as much since Morgana was released and Morgana is reluctant to admit that she really does miss him. Some days she wakes up screaming and feels the loss of him like a hole in her heart.

“Morgana, trust me, Camelot is safe.” He glances at Merlin, who shakes his head imperceptibly, before turning back to Morgana and sighing. “And we’re working on training a magic attack and defense squad, if that’s what you were worried about.” Morgana is surprised.

“Oh. Really?” When Arthur nods his head, she feels a bit more at ease. She nods back at him, bows a bit (she is not a lady anymore and Arthur is the king), before leaving the throne room.

As she leaves, she can swear she hears Arthur whisper “Just tell her, Merlin!” and Merlin’s soft whisper back “I can’t! Not yet, she’ll hate me.”

-

“Merlin!” She sees him across the hall and catches up to him quickly. “Do you want to go out riding for a bit?”

He smiles at her, and she feels that familiar warmth, that warmth that has become a sort of drug for her, and nods his head happily.

They spend hours riding horses. Merlin takes her to a beautiful lake called the Lake of Avalon. Morgana knows she has never seen anything quite so extraordinary and magical. Merlin explains to her that the lake is a point between life and death. On the bank of the lake, Morgana teaches Merlin how to swordfight, properly, not like how Arthur has been teaching him for years. And though he isn’t perfect by the end of it, he is noticeably better. They eat lunch together, watching the sparkling water sway back and forth at the edge of the lake.

After lunch, Morgana feels as if her energy is going to explode out of her. So, she pushes Merlin into the lake. He sputters when he resurfaces, soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead. Morgana laughs and laughs until Merlin reaches over and grabs Morgana’s hand, yanking her into the lake with him. Morgana would be lying if she said she hadn’t been expecting and hoping for this outcome the whole time. They’re both soaking and shivering and laughing when they finally pull themselves back onto the bank of the lake.

And there, she leans in and kisses him. Her kiss is innocent, tasting of the apples they had eaten during lunch and joy and water and she pulls away quickly to watch his expression. When he returns the kiss a moment later, it is hungry and passionate, filled with a long imbedded desire, a man in a desert finally getting his first sip of water.

When they leave, Morgana looks at the flowers on the trees surrounding Avalon and sees that they have all bloomed, despite the fact that it is March and spring has just started.

-

The druids visit Camelot a few months later. The druid leader’s name is Helori and he tells Arthur that he is happy to see Camelot has finally reached its time of prosperity. Arthur and Gwen smile and clasp hands at the statement. Morgana watches as Gwen slowly, almost unnoticeably, puts her hand on her belly. Well, there’s a new development.

Helori continues to speak. “King Arthur, when you first released the ban on magic, we druids were happy but uncertain, as most magic users may tell you. We signed the peace treaties but we feared repercussions anyway, a change in heart that could devastate us. Now, we know that you did not mean your words light heartedly, and we have come to pledge our service to Lord Emrys.” Morgana chokes slightly and backs up against the wall. She looks towards the King and automatically, her eyes search out Merlin. He is stiff, nervous, as she can tell, and Morgana feels her panic attack building at the thought that her rock is also unsteady.

The druid, however, continues to speak. “King Arthur, we only wish to serve Lord Ermys as he so faithfully serves you. He has done as the prophecies have foretold and he has brought magic back to our land, and in exchange, we offer our unending loyalty and gratitude.” With that, the entire group of druids turns towards Merlin and Helori drops to one knee, bowing his head. The other druids follow suit.

Morgana actually cannot breathe now. Merlin is Emrys. Merlin is Emrys? Her mind screams at her, her magic feels like it’s going to crash down around her, she cannot breathe, and Merlin is looking at her now, and the tears are blurring, and she can’t breathe, she _can’t breathe_ , and Morgana screams. The windows of the throne room shatter and the guards all step forwards, their hands going to their swords automatically. Morgana turns and runs.

She runs for as long as she can, gasping, trying to force the air to enter her useless lungs. She can hear the footsteps behind her. It is not a group of guards. The footsteps are soft, velvety leather hitting stone, and Morgana feels dizzy. It’s him. She takes another gasping breath and continues to run only to hear Merlin shout “Stop! Morgana!” She can’t stop. She has to leave. Has to leave Emrys, the white bearded man, her mind merges Merlin with the man and she fights the urge to throw up. She runs. “Morgana! Please!” And she hears the break in his voice on the last word and she can’t help but want to see if he’s okay. But she can’t stop. She can’t. Because Emrys. Because Merlin is Emrys. Because Merlin is her doom. And she has to run.

When she finally reaches the corridors of her old chambers, her prison chambers, she rushes inside, and using magic, bolts the door. Slowly, she sinks to the floor, gasping. In and out. In and out.

Merlin catches up to her (Emrys finds her, her mind supplies). She knows that he has magic, he can open the door, he’ll find her, he’ll kill her, he shall be your doom, and Morgana pulls her legs tightly against her body, awaiting the inevitable.

But he doesn’t open the door.

“Morgana?” He asks carefully and Morgana is transported back in time, back to listening to Merlin’s inane prattle, the only thing keeping her sane in desperation and she suddenly does not feel afraid.

“I’m here.” She whispers, but Merlin hears her anyway.

“Morgana, I won’t hurt you.” Merlin’s voice, his beautiful, tender, strong voice washes over and she wants to believe him, she does.

But “You’re Emrys.”

There’s a long pause. Finally, Merlin says “Yes, I’m Emrys. At least, that is what the druids call me.”

“You’re in my nightmares.”

This time Morgana hears Merlin let out a choked sound and she instantly regrets the words. She hears him whisper “I’m sorry.” And she wonders whether he is apologizing for being Emrys or for being in her nightmares.

“The Cailleach told me that you are my destiny and my doom.”

“I’ve heard the prophecies.” Morgana can hear him moving, shifting position so that he’s facing the door and she tenses, unintentionally. “But Morgana, that’s all they are. Prophecies. They do not always mean what they initially state and they may not always come to pass.”

“All my nightmares come true though.” She shivers, feeling hollow.

“Morgana, please. Destiny is our own making. I do not want to kill you. Please believe me. I…” Morgana sees Merlin’s hand suddenly reach through the gated window and she stares at it, unsure. “I love you, Morgana.” Morgana tentatively grasps the hand sticking through the bars and it feels like warmth is flooding through her again. She suddenly doesn’t understand why she could ever think Merlin would hurt her and the overwhelming happiness at the revelation crashes over her.

She unlocks the door.

Merlin kisses her like their lives both depend on it, and perhaps, they do.

-

Later, they will lay in bed, facing each other instead of back to back and Morgana will whisper “You saved me.”

Merlin will clutch her hand tighter and whisper “I couldn’t lose you again.”

-

A year later, Morgana will be given back the title of Lady, a day after the Crown Princess Ygraine is born.

-

Three years later, Morgana stands next to Gwen, feeling more nervous by the minute. Gwen is holding Princess Esmerelda (who bears a striking resemblance to Gwen herself) so she cannot hug Morgana, but kisses her on the cheek instead. “You’ll be great, my lady.” Gwen still addresses her like that and Morgana cannot begin to tell her how much she loves her. Gwen leaves the room to prepare and Morgana brushes out the wrinkles on her white dress.

Princess Ygraine, only two years old, looks adorable in baby blue, and walks slowly down the aisle with her basket of flowers.

When Morgana steps out, Merlin looks at her like the sun has come up. And Morgana loves.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating between whether I should write the same story from Merlin's perspective as well just because it would be fun to think about the scenes between Merlin and Arthur as they talk about Morgana but I'm not sure if anyone would like it??? So comment if thats something you'd like to read, I guess.


End file.
